


Fight Club

by Mother_of_Dragons



Category: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Force-Sensitive Reader, Hurt/Comfort, NOT EXPLICITLY ROMANTIC, Other, Reader is gn, can i write? no. will i let that stop me? no, well structured dialogue? idk her
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:20:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22057663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_of_Dragons/pseuds/Mother_of_Dragons
Summary: Suduri teaches you how to fight.
Relationships: Trilla Suduri | Second Sister/Reader, Trilla Suduri/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26





	Fight Club

"Do you yield?"

It takes everything within you to bite back the snarky comment resting on the tip of your tongue, lest it result in yet another strike of insolence upon your once perfect record. 

The staccato, pulsing throb inside your head is reason enough for a day's medical leave, though you doubt that you'll get any; it takes multiple blinks to get you to stop seeing double and a great many more before you can breathe freely again, a feat not at all helped by the boot currently pressing down upon the nape of your neck just hard enough to sting. 

Sensing your imminent (if not, delayed) recovery, Suduri lifts her boot with a sigh and offers you a hand which you take without question, wincing as she pulls you up a tad too roughly and sends bolts of pain through your wrenched shoulder. 

When you lift your shirt to survey the damage, the mirrors that line the room reveal that the faintest outline of a bruise the size of a fist is forming just below your ribs; all that remains of the punch she'd winded you with and the successive flip that'd had you on your back on the matt. 

"You're improving" 

A scoff escapes, unbidden, as you begin your wind down stretches, finding that immensely hard to believe.

In fact, it would come as no surprise if you were to discover that she secretly derives pleasure from this weekly torture, seemingly the sole outlet for her frustrations. What 'you are' is exhausted - if anything, these sessions seem to be leaving you not only weaker than ever, but also prone to humiliation from your colleagues as you fall further and further behind with your duties. 

"You cannot rely on the Force alone, _fledgling_ "

Making no attempt to disguise the blatant disappointment in her tone, Suduri thankfully forgoes a full reprimand in favour of unwinding the protective gauze wrapped tightly around each hand.

She's right of course, but you wish she wouldn't call you that, it's demeaning and quite frankly inaccurate; as if subjecting yourself weekly to embarrassment at the hands of your superior each week isn't enough. 

"Well, I appreciate your diligence, Second Sister" 

You only use her title in these sessions, admittedly, to get something out of her. This time, it's an attempt to stroke her ego, if only to get dismissed earlier. You're sweating through your fatigues and, by the look of the clock on the wall, you have less than 10 minutes to get to the nearest refresher before the afternoon rush and, of course, the cantina beckons. 

"So quick to get away?" 

The expression on her face is inscrutable from this angle, half facing you, half turned away, but you shrug off her _correct_ deduction as casually as you can manage, something which you immediately regret when pain sears through your shoulder. She catches the face you pull in the mirror, brow furrowing for a moment before her lips set into a firm frown. 

"Sit" 

You do so without even being fully conscious of it, immediately folding your legs under you and straightening your back the way she'd taught was best for channelling your (at times, unchecked) emotion into the Force during meditation.

You don't see it, but she almost smiles at your utter lack of hesitancy to follow her command as she unwraps the last of the gauze and stretches her fingers - you try not to stare at the scars. 

Turning, she levels her 1,000 yard stare at you for a moment longer than necessary before she approaches, each step calculated and - oddly - captivating. She settles behind you, legs on either side but not quite touching as she regards you for a moment in the mirror. It feels almost indecent, being this close to her - you can feel her breath fanning gently against the nape of your neck - but this doesn't seem like the time to question her methods, especially since she can so easily overpower you. Fleetingly, you hope you don't smell too grossly of sweat. 

You don't know exactly what you'd been expecting, but you immediately tense when she runs her hands over your shoulders, gasping slightly in surprise at the contact. You don't need the Force to sense the look on her face, but you take it in your stride and try your best to relax when she says so, wincing ever so slightly as her thumb glides over tender muscle - where she touches bare skin, you can feel the myriad of hardened scar tissue that mars her palms in healed, but still mottled patches of pink and white. Burns that you're sure must still ache sometimes. 

Slowly, she works her way into a rhythm, pressure building ever so slightly as she kneads into the muscles of your upper back, first in circular motions with her fingers and then the heel of her palms, watching your face carefully as the tingles and occasional twinge of tension mellows into relief as sore knots unwind. 

It's heaven - and she knows it - so you can't help but slouch slightly into her touch as her motions get tighter and deeper into the muscle, fully expecting her to correct your posture without even stopping. To your surprise, she doesn't. Nor does she shift back to accommodate for the lack of space, even as your back rests against her chest. 

Your head's spinning, and there's nothing to fill the silence except for the whirring of the AC and the near incessant ticking of the clock. In your mind's eye, you can picture the queue already forming for the nearest refreshers, can hear the gentle hubbub of the cantina; the soft thud of trays being set down upon tables, every scrape of cutlery against plates as the last of today's special is served. 

In fact, you're just coming to terms with how you can't bring yourself to care when you sense a shift in the atmosphere, an uncertainty undercut by longing that you can't quite place. Whatever it is, it only lasts for a second before Suduri's ministrations draw to a close, fingers lingering momentarily on the dip between your shoulder blades before she rises, the hiss of the door as it closes behind her your only substitute for a goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> I have an idea for a second chapter, probably won't write it, but yeah.


End file.
